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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24680524">Colours</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaidemic/pseuds/akaidemic'>akaidemic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Soft feelings, This is a tim appreciation house, Timothy Stoker's nailpolish therapy, yes the last past takes place just before the unknowing sue me for emotional damages later</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:02:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,348</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24680524</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaidemic/pseuds/akaidemic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Timothy Stoker wears nail polish. He also knows the value of a good manicure.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist &amp; Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood &amp; Sasha James &amp; Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker, Sasha James/Tim Stoker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Colours</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Sasha</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes Sasha gets tired. Sometimes the mind just sinks into the ground and lacks the capacity to get up. For Sasha, this moment occurs at the end of the week, a time when most people seem to find the strength to enjoy their free time. Sasha, however, fails to see the free time. She sees the boxes and the lists on her desk and her bullet journal’s million colourful tabs that all indicate that Something Must Be Done. She knows she cannot finish a week’s job in a day, but that won’t stop her brain from trying.</p><p>It’s not an unusual sight for Tim to head back into the office and see her desk light still on. Already ready, jacket on and everything, he stands in the doorway and just looks at her for a moment. Then the bag hits the ground and the jacket is draped over a chair as another chair scoots towards the desk, creaking over the wooden floor.</p><p>“Give me your hand.”</p><p>He knows exactly where she keeps the bottle. A shade of red in a colour he cannot even begin to remember, but which reminds him of mulled wine and velvet. Top drawer of her desk, right beside her extensive collection of stickers she barely uses. <em>They’re for my journal</em>, she says. <em>Then use them, </em>he retorts. She never does.</p><p>He holds her hand like he's held it before but it's different and it's gentle without reservations or questions. She remembers the way his hands feel whenever she looks at them and sometimes, she misses the way they’d felt. But things are better like this. She listens to his voice and lets him talk as he paints very carefully, better at it than her, she will never admit.</p><p>She likes the way his nail feels along her nailbeds as he gently scrapes away the polish that got out of bounds and the way he laughs and makes jokes to himself even though he's talking to her in the way he always does. The way Timothy Stoker talks makes it a three-way conversation: you, him, and again him.</p><p>They’re not going out for drinks. He’s going to finish the last nail and make her wave her hands. He’s going to make her laugh and then send her off home, making her promise to relax. And she knows he knows what that means.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Martin</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The first time Martin gets his nails painted it's an experience he doesn't know he likes in theory. It's something from before Martin and before the Way Things Are Now. It’s something that stirred emotions in him, seeing Tim’s nails in glances. Feeling as if Tim is allowed and he isn't on account of... Things. But when Tim pulls up to his desk on a squeaky rolly chair and asks him what his favourite colour is, "blue" comes out of his mouth before he knows it.</p><p>Tim’s hands aren’t soft, and they’re just a little smaller than his. They make him feel aware of how much he hates his own hands, and more importantly, how little his hands have been touched. His mind immediately yells and kicks and a thought pops up.</p><p>
  <em>Don’t fall in love with him.</em>
</p><p>He’s just holding your hand, Martin. He’s just carefully lifting your fingers and placing them over his for stability as he runs the small brush over your nail and streaks you with a gentle blue. But nobody holds his hand like this, so Martin struggles until Tim looks up at him and asks him what’s wrong.</p><p>“I never had anyone do this before.”</p><p>“You make it sound like such a big deal.”</p><p>
  <em>It is for me. </em>
</p><p>“Sasha says it helps.”</p><p>
  <em>Do I look like a pity case?</em>
</p><p>Martin doesn’t say anything, and neither does Tim. There’s the hurt of a nail digging into his nailbed and Martin cannot say he dislikes it. He looks over at the door to the other office and something in him dares to wonder if one day he can be the Tim to someone else.<br/>
<br/>
“There we go, handsome.”</p><p>Tim sounds half-joking, but in a way that doesn’t bother him. He sounds like Tim. The blue is somewhat gaudy but it’s neat. Martin finds himself smiling at it and when he looks at Tim, he can see his friend knows what that means.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Jon</em>
</p><p> </p><p>There’s not much you can do when you get cornered by Timothy Stoker. Especially not when Timothy Stoker works out and could, in theory, carry you to the office like a fireman. Not that he’d do it, though looking into his eyes Jon knows the probability is absolutely non-zero. Though he is frustrating, the sun that disguises himself as his colleague is frustratingly warm and inviting.</p><p>“Boss, it’s a team building exercise.” He says, and Jon finds himself already walking with him, partially because he does have a strong grip on Jon’s arm. He sputters and he argues but Tim seems unperturbed as he puts the bottles on his desk one by one. They’re in all honesty, awfully flashy colours, and none of them match the clothes Jon tends to wear. They remind him of those little caps people put on the nails of their pets.</p><p>“Pick a colour, but not blue. Martin already has the monopoly on blue.”</p><p>Jon looks at Martin, who is peeking over a file and hides. His nails are blue, as Sasha’s are red. He hadn’t paid attention to either before, and it makes him wonder if this is a thing they’d been doing for a while.</p><p>Tim’s nails are a pink and golden colour that reminds him of a sunset. Not a fibre in Jon’s being is surprised.</p><p>“Green, I guess.”</p><p>For the first time Jon regrets biting his nails. The green only stretches that far, compared to Tim’s long lines of sunset. It feels clumsy, it looks clumsy. He should probably take it off the first chance he gets.</p><p>But he’s calm. For the first time in a while Jon finds himself only worrying, and not even really worrying, about the green. With every stroke of the small brush, Tim closes a window in Jon’s head until the room is quiet and all he can hear is the ticking of Sasha’s nails on her laptop keyboard and the soft breathing of a focused Tim. His hands are so big compared to his, though Tim is average in a lot of ways.</p><p>“You’re quiet, boss. Are you enjoying this more than you thought?” Tim says and for a second Jon wonders if the prick can actually read minds.</p><p>“It’s... alright,” he musters, feigning as much indifference as he can, which he realises immediately hasn’t been enough as the familiar grin appears on Tim’s face. He makes a face, bracing himself for the inevitable comment about him being stuck up or whatever Tim has up his sleeve this time.</p><p>“That’s good.”</p><p>The grin is a smile, and Tim is quiet. He finishes up and runs his nail along the edges, fingers running past Jon’s palm who is trying to remember if this is what a person is supposed to feel like. And then he lets go, and leaves Jon with the remnants of his own energy that stick to him like pollen.</p><p>Jon clears his throat and thanks him, adjusting his jacket. Tim just nods at him as he twists the cap of the polish closed. “Any time, boss.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess.”</p><p>Jon doesn’t have to look at him to know he knows.</p><p>Tim knows exactly what he means.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tim</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The feeling is weird, but it was never unexpected, and so he finds himself feeling more determined than scared in any way. This was always the way it was going to be, he thinks as he picks at his nails. The red polish chips, and he makes a face. No time to fix that. There’s a soft aching in his chest as he places the colours where they belong. Blue and green. He sets them beside the spaces their laptops occupy.</p><p>He knows they'll know what it means.</p>
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